


bloodlines

by leksaf



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Werewolf!Abigail, based off of a novel im writing, i dont know who is going to end up with who, ignore the new family relationships i know they look nothing alike leave me alone, like really gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leksaf/pseuds/leksaf
Summary: A wolf trying to find out the truth about a tree. Two witches escaping from their island prison. A Drux trying to reclaim the world that once belonged to her.And three fluffy hellhounds.
Relationships: Abigail Bellweather/Libba Swythe, Abigail Bellweather/Raelle Collar, Abigail Bellweather/Scylla Ramshorn, Abigail Bellweather/Tally Craven, Gerit Buttonwood/Tally Craven, Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Kudos: 24





	bloodlines

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why but i can't see anyone besides gerit & abigail being wolves. this is basically a novel i'm writing but like...as mfs fanfiction. my favorite thing about mfs is that the acronym also stands for motherfuckers.
> 
> please leave comments it makes my heart happy

**THE WOLVES OF KIOSE: PART ONE**

The air tasted of salt and the sound of waves rocking against ships was quiet in the dark night. Behind passing clouds, the moon shone bright and proud, streams of light bouncing off of Abigail’s fur as she continued along the shoreline. 

She heard her younger brother’s labored panting next to her; he had trouble keeping up with her since his first turn two years ago. Abigail had turned for the first time four years prior, and it had been a warm, clear night with the largest moon she had ever seen and a charge running down her spine so strong that it took an entire night of running to get out.

Gerit tried to follow her next sharp turn and his feet slipped under him. He let out a soft whimper when his side slammed into a tree stump, though his recovery was quick and soon he was coming up on Abigail’s heels once again.

Soon, the water and sand disappeared around them as their paws pounded against the hard dirt ground of the forest. They dodged around trees and kicked up leaves in their wake. 

Eventually, they slowed and came to rest in front of the tallest tree with the thickest trunk. It was from this tree that they knew they were in the heart of the forest, and Abigail dropped to her belly and leaned her side against the tree, her breathing hard and leaving puffs of mist in the air.

After catching his breath, Gerit sat and pointed his nose straight up into the air; his sister already knew what was coming before he bellowed out the long howl. She yawned, her mouth opening wide and her teeth glinting in the small sliver of moonlight that managed to claw through the tops of the trees.

About a mile north was a small fishing village called Islieri made up only of humans and their poor wolf stereotypes. The siblings had visited once for trade when their supplies had run low one winter due to a rival pack catching most of the game. 

Whispers had spread through the village until they were just a single roaring voice that gave Abigail a headache and made Gerit even more curious than he already had been. Most of what they heard were just children’s tales and jokes about how all they did in wolf form was chase after tree limbs and howl at the moon.

Since that day, Gerit made a point during every turn to howl for at least thirty minutes, just enough time to ensure that his chilling, echoed howl reached the ears of every human in that village. Of course, at times, other members of their pack would answer him, and he would run off and leave Abigail to herself.

That rang true for that night, as he heard the familiar sound of other pack members and bounded off to meet them. Abigail licked at one of her paws lazily and then stretched. Her bones cracked and popped and the fur fell from her body as she shifted back into her human form.

She stretched once more, reaching her arms towards the sky and sighing heavily. The bark of the tree was cold against her palm and she brushed her thumb against it lightly. It had been her mother who first showed her the tree, who told her that when the time came, she had to lean into what she felt when she was around it.

And Abigail spent fifteen years trying to understand what her mother had meant by that.

Until that night.

It felt like electricity was running from the tree into the palm of her hand and into the rest of her body. It felt like something old and ancient was brewing down inside the very essence of her being, as if—

“You always shift back early,” a quiet voice said. 

She took her hand off of the tree trunk and turned to see her younger sister, Charvel, with her back towards her, holding a shirt and pants in one hand with the other resting on her hip.

Abigail took the clothes from Charvel’s outstretched hand and threw them on quickly. “You can turn around now,” she said.

Charvel spun on her heel and gave Abigail a small smile. “Fun night?” she asked.

Without hesitation, Abigail shook her head. “It was just the usual kind of night. Ran with Gerit until he ditched me.”

“Did he try to piss off all of Islieri?” 

Abigail smirked as she nodded in response. The smirk vanished quickly, however, as she looked back at the tree—her tree. She practically felt the question that was on the tip of Charvel and shook her head before her sister could ask anything. “It’s nothing, I just—something that mom said about this tree once is bothering me.”

“What did she say?”

“That when the time comes I need to lean into what the tree makes me feel,” Abigail told her.

There was a moment of silence between them before Charvel burst out into laughter. “Maybe she had too much ale that night,” she suggested.  
Abigail allowed herself a small chuckle, but her gaze was continuously drawn back to the tree, no matter how hard she tried to look away. Charvel stepped up next to her. “There’s just…something…” 

Before she could figure out just exactly what she was trying to say, a pained howl sliced through the air. The two ran, Abigail’s bare feet pounding against the hard dirt as Charvel did her best to keep up. Within a matter of minutes, they stopped short in a clearing.

The wolf’s fur along its back was bristled and blood stained its bared teeth. Gerit was on the ground, unmoving, but Abigail let out a small sigh of relief when she saw the telltale rise and fall of his chest. Blood was pooling underneath him, though, and the smell was becoming nauseating.

“Charvel, go find Abbas.”

Her sister did as she was told, and Abigail watched the other wolf closely for any indication that he may try to take chase. He remained there, standing still yet tall, with his teeth still bared and a low rumble taking residence in the back of his throat.

Abigail growled back, a warning, but he did not heed it. She knew what was happening, and she had no idea what to do.

The clearing was part of the line between the Bellweather and Swythe packs, one of the few boundaries that any wolf of her pack actually kept in mind when human and wolf. Gerit had trouble remembering many things in his wolf form—once he had even forgotten Abigail’s own scent and fled when he saw her, thinking she was a Swythe. 

Or maybe he had remembered.

It was a hard thing to forget that your sister had been torn apart limb by limb the year before for trespassing on another pack’s territory. The Swythe’s own alpha had been the one to find her in their village, and she had been the one to challenge Ainsley. 

“Damn it, Gerit,” she muttered, then louder, “Can you understand me?” The wolf stopped growling for a short moment, only long enough to give Abigail his answer. “You heard me earlier. Abbas is coming. I would run, if I were you,” she said.

Just when Abigail thought the wolf was going to lunge at her, he turned and leapt off into the trees. She sighed and threw herself to the ground where Gerit was, running her hands through his fur and trying to find the wound.

There was a chunk missing from his leg, but nothing that wouldn’t heal quickly. He whimpered quietly and looked up at Abigail with terrified eyes that immediately told her he had not planned any of this.

An even bigger relief.

***  
The next morning, the village was bustling. Abigail focused on the cold soil beneath her bare feet, on the feeling of her younger sister’s hand in her own, on the beating sun that for whatever reason seemed cold and wrong. She knew the reason she had been summoned to her father with her sister: Gerit’s attack.

Her father had always been more vicious and less logical than her mother—she often wondered why her mother chose to marry him instead of anyone else in the pack. Sheer raw strength alone couldn’t have been it; there were wolves in their pack even stronger than Abbas and Petra combined.

Still, there was a lump in her throat as she anticipated every possible reaction from her father. When her mother was alive, he constantly tried to ignite war amongst the closest packs. Of course, Petra was smart enough not to listen to him, and she had done better than most previous alphas at keeping peace between humans and wolves alike. 

Charvel clenched her hand harder just before they crossed the threshold into his small wooden home. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor with Gerit across from him. Neither said anything for a few long moments until Abbas stood and Gerit followed.

“Abigail.”

“Father.”

Charvel did not receive such a warm welcome—or any welcome at all. Abigail knew he had been cold to his youngest daughter since the day she was born. Oscia, the witch had called her before she was born. Wolf-less.

It was a rarity that occurred only one hundred times in the recorded history of wolves. There was no way for the witch to even have been sure—Abigail didn’t see her complete any rituals or even pray to her gods for an answer—but Abbas let it affect him all the same.

Despite the fact that Charvel still inherited all of the traits of a wolf—enhanced senses, strength, and speed even before the first turn—her father refused to acknowledge her as his daughter. He spent nearly every day of her life convincing himself that Petra must have been unfaithful, that the only logical explanation for his bloodline creating an oscia was that it was not his bloodline at all.

His initial avoidance and ignorance of Charvel soon turned into annoyance when she tried to gain his attention, and eventually hatred of her and the way she inadvertently reminded him that he either created an abomination, or his wife had cheated on him. 

Nothing her father has ever said or done made much sense to her or most of her siblings, and it had been Ainsley who made it her life’s mission to care for Charvel when their mother was out of the village for weeks at a time to keep peace between the packs. Gerit and Abigail had caught on quickly and would help tend to Charvel before she was able to speak. 

“Gerit told me what happened last night. Did you get the wolf’s scent?” Abbas asked, drawing Abigail from her thoughts. 

She wanted to say no, to give him less of a reason to go after a member of the Swythe pack—especially when what had transpired was technically Gerit’s fault. Still, what her father would have done to her if she lied was far worse than what he could have done to the Swythes. She nodded once sharply. 

The smile was in his eyes, only, but that was enough for Abigail to catch the scent of war.

“Father,” Gerit said. His voice was deeper than usual, and he had straightened his back and shoulders before Abbas turned to face him. “I do not wish to retaliate.”

Abbas let out half-amused, half-disbelieved scoff. “You do not wish? I don’t give a damn what you wish, boy. If the elders believe that this calls for retaliation, then it calls for retaliation. Now, leave me.”

Ah, the elders. The only people standing between Abbas and his poorly thought out ideas. Since Petra’s death a few weeks earlier, the elders were in charge of the pack until the next moon’s challenge for a new alpha.

Three moons to grieve Petra, and then someone else will rise to take her title. 

The oldest child of Abbas was supposed to be the first challenger, and Abigail’s older brother Sam had practically been frothing at the mouth since the moment of Petra’s death. Supposedly, Abbas had sent him away to another pack to train until the challenge. 

Abigail, Gerit, and Charvel spent an hour walking through the village in complete silence. The thought of Abbas starting a war over this was heavy on all of their minds, and the only thing they could hope was that the elders waited to weigh in on the matter until a new alpha rose. 

Abigail prayed, in that moment, to the wolf gods and the witch gods and every god that existed and ever had existed.

Please don’t let Porter win.

**THE WITCHES OF ELLESKIA: PART ONE**

On its own, Elleskia was a beautiful, decent-sized island rich with salt just waiting to be to be harvested. The sand was white and hot from the sun, and the water was completely clear to see the striking variety of fish that swam beneath the ocean waves. Although uncomfortably humid at times, the air was still the freshest in the world, and it was never truly ruled out from rumor that the air there could cure any illness.

Add a magical barrier and handfuls of criminals from the neighboring countries, and suddenly no one wanted to visit anymore. Even after hosting some of the world’s worst criminals, though, Elleskia kept its beauty. 

The barrier kept the criminals in and curious sailors out, but the witches of the Delgat and Westfay governments who had put it up were able to travel in and out with ease, mainly just to drop new criminals. At least, that was how it had been in the beginning. Ships of prisoners were once sailed across the water at least once a day from both countries.

Eventually, though, the governments had decided to put an end to locking up petty thieves and poachers on the island and decided the land should be reserved for those who were unable to be reasonably held in normal prisons. The cut-off had been established the day the arrival of Raelle and Tally, twin witches stuck to roam the island until they inevitably died.

Tally was curled on her sleeping mat, one of the few things that she had been allowed when they transported her from the dungeons to the boat. A make-shift shelter of thick tree limbs and large leaves kept most of the rain off of her. On either side of her were Kai and Alla, two of the three hellhounds that had been found on the island. The third, Lu, was pacing around the perimeter of their small, last-minute camp.

They had been forced to leave the last area that they had sarcastically called “home” after the storm knocked a tree down onto one of their huts. Raelle had told Tally to aim for short-term shelter, that they weren’t going to be staying there after the storm.

While the temporary shelter she had built was just great, Tally had wanted to travel a little into the mountains and find a cave to hide her from the rain. Raelle told her that it wasn’t reasonable; when storms came, everyone on the island became ravenous for chaos, to hear their words roared in the sound of thunder and see their actions reflected in the violent strikes of lightning that slashed across the sky.

“How about…one more hour, then we’ll go to the mountains if the rain lets up,” she said hopefully.

Raelle was poking at the dwindling fire she had somehow put together under the canopy of a short tree. She paid no mind to Tally, and instead fed the flames a damp stick. The fire cracked and hissed at her in anger.

“We have three hellhounds and we’re two bad-ass witches, Raelle. We’ll be fine,” Tally continued.

“No,” Raelle said with finality. 

“But why?” Tally whined.

“We have three young hellhounds that are still smaller than wolves and most of the men on this island. We’re two bad-ass witches whose powers are dampened by this barrier. We’re not going to risk it,” she explained.

“Well, the hounds definitely came in handy the last two years,” Tally muttered as she scratched Alla behind the ear. The hellhound groaned happily and leaned into her hand.

There was much mystery surrounding the hellhounds, especially since they were the first three to be seen in seventy years. The creatures were said to be extinct since the day they all seemingly disappeared. 

Some said the power of the beings threatened to rival that of a witch, and so a coven had cursed the creatures. Others said that the hellhounds no longer had a reason to roam the earth, and retreated to the underworld, but that they would return when their power was needed.

The first night on the island, Tally had been woken by the sound of howling, though it was not a sound she really recognized. It was hollower and louder than a wolf’s, and something about it made the hairs on her limbs and the back of her neck prickle up. The feeling itself she experienced from the sound gave her gooseflesh. 

She had woken Raelle, who only swatted her and went back to sleep. Curious, and naïve, Tally crept deeper into the woods, intent on finding the source of the sound. When she finally found the source, it was three hounds laying together and looking up at the stars.

The smallest, Kai, had smelled her first, and he was also the first to stand and walk over to her. She was completely still, her eyes looking intensely into the orange-gold eyes of the hound. He sniffed at her hand with little interest, but something caused his tail to stick straight into the air before wagging wildly.

His action had drawn the attention to Alla and Lu, and they soon joined him and Tally and moved around her excitedly. She spent two hours with them in that spot, just petting them, talking to them, playing with them. Somehow, she felt heard, and understood, and she had no idea, but she knew that the hounds were part of her soul.

They followed her on her way back to her and Raelle’s camp without Tally trying to coax them. It seemed as though the four of them already knew that they were supposed to stay together.

The hellhounds had been young and small when Tally found them, probably just weaned from their mother—if they ever had one. No one on the island had ever seen a fourth hellhound, and though she searched, Tally found no evidence of there ever being another hellhound on the island. 

When morning came, Raelle found Tally curled up on her mat and squished between Alla and Kai while Lu was sitting a few feet away, watching intently for any sign of danger. Raelle had hardly even questioned it; Tally had always been picking up strays since they were kids.

But hellhounds? 

She never questioned it because she believed there was no actual answer to any question she could have come up with.

The sign of danger that Lu had been waiting for arrived around noon that day, when a group of men who had been on the island for years came around to see if they could steal anything from the girls. Before the first one even opened his mouth, Lu—small as he was and young as he seemed—had torn a chunk of bloody flesh from his arm.

After that, Raelle and Tally had hardly seen trouble from anyone on the island; most people knew to keep their distance from the witches. Still, Raelle was always paranoid and waiting for an enemy behind every corner. Tally couldn’t blame her—the island was full of criminals.

Like them.

The sun was beginning to set, and Lu returned to the camp. He shook the rain from his sleek black fur and stretched lazily before laying next to Raelle in front of the fire. She absent-mindedly patted him between the shoulders.

Tally hoped that if she fell asleep, she would wake to clear skies and more warmth than a single, dying fire. Just as she closed her eyes, however, Raelle jumped to her feet, startled. 

“What is it?” Tally asked, gently pushing Kai off of her to stand.

“Ships,” Raelle said. 

“Ships?” she repeated dumbly.

“I saw it in the fire. There are three ships coming—military ships, with soldiers.”

Tally’s stomach churned. She had always wondered when Delgat and Westfay would grow tired of not being able to somehow make money off of Elleskia (aside from saving money by not having to feed prisoners) and slaughter its current residents. That had to have been what was happening—otherwise, why send military ships with armed soldiers?

Quickly, Raelle kicked sand over the fire and gripped the handle of her dagger tightly. Faintly, they heard commotion. With the hounds following closely on their heels, they followed the sound until they came across a group of Elleskia residents standing together on the shore and looking at the still far-away lamps shining on the ships in the ocean.

Shit.

***

Twenty soldiers arrived to shore in two wooden rowboats. The one who Tally assumed to be the captain stepped forward, closer to the criminals than any of the other soldiers did. Half of the men donned the sigil of the Westfay military, and the other half wore the pride of Delgat. 

The captain unrolled some parchment and said, “We are here to bring an offer from the governments of Westfay and Delgat. All who reside on the island of Elleskia hereby have the choice to serve in the military of the country of their birth, or to remain on the island forever.”

Some of the Elleskia men immediately began to jostle each other and laugh loudly, while those were took the words seriously went over them in their heads, trying to come to a decision. Tally bit the inside of her cheek nervously as Raelle stepped up to the captain until she was less than a foot away from him.

“What about those who were born in neither country?” she asked. There was a challenge in her voice—there always was when she wanted to question authority. 

The captain hesitated and hurriedly scanned his eyes over the paper once more. “It says nothing of those born outside of Delgat and Westfay.” He looked her over suspiciously. “Only those from one of those countries would be here.”

Raelle scoffed. “Well, that’s a lie,” she said plainly. The captain’s jaw clenched, and she knew that he must have had orders not to initiate a fight, because Tally saw the temptation to slice through Raelle flash across his face. 

“This letter is signed by the governments of—” 

“I don’t care who signed them. I never lived in Westfay o—” Tally grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Tally said with an apologetic smile. “We are from Delgat. Forgive my sister.”

The captain gave a stiff nod, then visibly tensed when Kai lumbered out from the shadows to stand beside Tally. Once the soldier noticed the glow of his eyes, he took a step back. “Impossible,” he whispered to himself.

Tally smiled awkwardly and told Kai to leave. With offense, Kai wandered off to find his siblings. “Could, uh—could they come with us when we leave for the military?” she asked the captain timidly. 

The captain ignored her and cleared his throat. “The residents of Elleskia have one month to make their decision. Ships will return to collect those who choose life over death,” he announced. He took one last glance in the direction that Kai had loped off before turning around and leaving with his men. 

When they returned to their camp, Raelle rounded on Tally. “Why would you tell him we’re from Delgat?” she asked sharply. 

“Because we can leave, Raelle! In one month, we can leave Elleskia!” she exclaimed.

Raelle almost stopped arguing from the wide smile on Tally’s face alone. However, she pressed on. “We can’t join the fucking military.” She spat on the ground and her saliva caught the glimmer of the stars and moon. 

“We’re not joining the army, Raelle,” she said in a sing-songy voice. With furrowed brows, Raelle waited for her to continue and Tally rolled her eyes. “We need to get a message out.”

“We can’t, Tal. You know that. And who would we even send it to?”

Tally’s eyes glimmered with hope. “We need to get a message to Fort Salem.”

**THE WOLVES OF KIOSE: PART TWO**

The challenge day was approaching quickly; Abigail had no idea how to fight her nerves for the next three days. Porter was back from wherever he had been sent off to, and his ego was even larger and more annoying than before. Every chance he got, he boasted to his siblings and friends and even strangers how he was soon to become to next Bellweather alpha. 

Abbas expressed his pride in his son loudly and as often as possible, though not even the names of his other children ever left his lips. When they dined with the elders three days before the inevitable night, Abbas made sure to keep Porter directly to his right, Abigail to his left, and Charvel on the other side of Gerit, as far from Abbas as could get. 

Abigail knew her father didn’t believe in Porter’s leadership abilities and worshipped him only because they shared the same unnatural instinct for slaughter and war. 

The challengers were already beginning to speak out and claim their intentions. Amongst them was none other than Augustin, one of Abigail’s old yet short-lived flames. He was stronger than Porter, physically and mentally, and with a softer heart. It was hard for her not to root for Augustin over her brother.

Augustin was everything that the Bellweather pack could have asked for in an alpha. She knew from experience that he was able to keep his head in stressful situations and make selfless decisions. It would be the closest thing to having Petra as an alpha once more.

A few other wolves had stepped up to unofficially challenge Porter, though many of them were young, freshly-turned, and thinking only of the glory that such a challenge would bring even if they lost. Only one or two were older wolves with the sole intention of ruling and taking care of the pack.

Abigail found herself in the small home that Charvel and Gerit shared to sit in silence with them as they all hoped that Porter fell to an opponent. Still, something tugged at her when she prayed about the challenge, which was nearly always now.

Any wolf that chooses to back down and submit may, but Abigail knew that Porter never would make himself look weak to Abbas, even if it meant fighting to his death. Porter was awful and full of himself, and would readily lead the pack to its own destruction, but he was still her brother—he still meant something to her, right?

To voice her thoughts meant running the risk of someone overhearing the nature of their conversation, and the last thing she needed was for Abbas to know that she not only doubted her brother’s ability to become alpha, but that she also that she was wishing for him to fail.

She rose to her feet and sighed heavily. “I’m going for a run,” she told her siblings. Gerit looked at her with a scrunched-up face, trying to decide if he wanted to join her. “Don’t, it’s fine,” she told him. 

Turning around the full moon took less energy than turning during any other moon phases, but it still took a lot out of those who weren’t used to turning on any night other than the full moon. Gerit hardly ever found a reason to shift outside of the full moon and had never become accustomed to the feeling of turning on a regular night like Abigail had.

Within minutes, her clothes had been shed and left behind Gerit’s house, and her paws were hitting the ground in the direction of the tree that her mother had told her about. She let the wind brush through her fur and the moonlight fall over her. 

Before long, she was in the forest, back in her naked human form, with a palm pressed against the tree trunk. She had gone to the tree almost every day since the night Gerit was attacked, trying to experience that same feeling once again, that sense of something boiling under her skin trying to claw its way out.

And every day since, she had felt nothing.

“What’re you doing?” someone asked.

She turned abruptly, not accustomed to being snuck up on, and stared at the woman before her. Brown locks fell to her shoulders and her blue eyes were striking as they watched Abigail. She didn’t smell like a wolf—she didn’t smell like anything.

“I’m not here for a fight,” the woman said when she noticed Abigail’s clenched fists and the look on her face. “Actually…I can help you,” she stated.

Abigail scoffed. “Yeah? Help me with what?” she spat. Something about the woman sent hot anger rushing through her body.

The woman smiled and her eyes glinted dangerously. “You don’t want your brother to become the alpha. I can help you with that,” she said.

Her interest piqued, Abigail took a step forward. The woman looked her up and down with an eyebrow arched, impressed. Abigail rolled her eyes. “How?”

“Challenge him before anyone else does,” the woman said. 

“No,” she said defiantly. 

The woman laughed. “So you already know you’ll beat him. Why haven’t you thought of challenging him yet?”

“Listen, whoever you are—I’m not challenging my brother.” 

Blue eyes grew deadly serious and the woman reached forward to seize Abigail by the wrist. “It is the only way to accomplish everything you hope for—Porter alive, but beaten.”  
Abigail wrenched herself free from the woman’s grasp. “How did you know m—” 

“It has been seen. Foretold. Only your rise as alpha can save your brother,” the woman said.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that? How do you know me and my family?” Abigail asked, her voice rising angrily. 

The woman began to walk away. “Goodbye, Abigail Bellweather. I’m sure I’ll see you in a few days.

***

Abigail should have known that the woman was telling the truth.

Three days later came the challenge. 

Nothing was special about the morning; the sun shone indiscriminately, people chattered in the fields, some wolves and humans were fishing together on the Islieri border. Abigail wasn’t expecting anything exciting or unexpected—no one was—but the fact that she wasn’t made her feel wrong.

Porter was with their father in the woods, praying to their ancestors and their gods, hoping to receive a sign that Porter was favored by the spirits he hardly even respected to begin with. 

Only a few hours before dark, Porter and Abbas returned. Abigail was waiting for Porter in his own home, and he walked in on her as she was praying.

“Don’t worry, Abigail, I don’t need your prayers. I am going to win tonight,” he told her with certainty. 

Abigail thought back to the strange woman’s words and stood to face Porter. “If it comes down to it, Porter…submit,” she said quietly. Her eyes filled with tears that she did not allow to fall.

Porter roughly pushed her aside. “Of course you don’t believe in me.”

“I do!” Abigail screeched back at him. “Of course I do. But…promise me you won’t let your pride get in the way of your life,” she practically begged.

He was silent for a while, just staring at her, trying to figure out how to interpret her words, but finally he swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded at her. She smiled thinly and left. 

***

By the third hour of the challenges, Porter had beaten four other wolves into submission. They had shifted back to their human forms and were taken to the infirmary in the village. 

Porter, still in his wolf form, with spots of dirt, dust, and blood in his white fur, paced around the rough circle formed by the rings of those who watched on. He growled and snapped at a few people, the animal instinct strong, as he waited for his next challenger. Just as Abigail saw Augustin step forward, a terrifying, wild growl caused him to flee the area.

Instead, Abbas stepped into the ring, foam at his mouth and his eyes full of murder. Abigail could hear Charvel gasp next to her, and she nuzzled worriedly at her sister’s hand with her nose before pushing through a group of wolves to be able to see better.

What the hell is Abbas doing? She thought. 

She could sense that Porter was just as confused. Was it a trick that Abbas was playing? Was he going to let Porter take him down so he could boast that his son is just as strong as he was?

That expectation fled as quickly as Augustin had when Abbas lunged forward and closed his teeth around Porter’s neck. Her brother flailed and twisted until he was free of Abbas’s jaws, and the two circled each other for what felt like hours.

Porter snapped his teeth at Abbas and went for one of his legs, but their father was too quick and easily evaded him. He slammed his side into Porter’s and sent him falling hard to the ground. Abbas tore into his side and Porter screamed in pain as flesh fell to the ground. 

This isn’t supposed to be happening.

At that point, Charvel was crying, screaming to Abbas to stop, but their father paid no attention to her. Abigail doubted that he had even heard anything other than the pounding of blood in his ears. Petra had always made comments about how uncontrollable and bloodthirsty Abbas was when he shifted.

Abigail knew that Abbas was aiming to become the alpha.

And she also knew that Porter wasn’t going to back down until he was dead.

She surged forward just as Abbas managed to tackle Porter and clamp down on his neck again, and she grabbed one of Abbas’s own legs and bit down until Abbas cried out and released Porter. He snapped at Abigail but missed, and she jumped to the side.

Still, he was stronger, and faster, and soon he pounced onto her. With her back on the ground, she did her best to avoid letting him grab at her neck, and scraped her claws along his underbelly until she drew blood.

He growled, distracted by the slight pain, and she took the moment to snap her jaws onto one of his paws, causing him to scream, and just when he did a black mass slammed into him. Abigail looked up and saw Gerit in the ring with them, circling around Abbas and looking to Abigail to make sure she was okay. 

At the edge of the ring, Charvel was kneeling next to Porter’s unmoving body. The scent of his blood was heavy in the air and it made her sick to her stomach. She and Gerit continued to circle Abbas, waiting for him to make his move.

It was then that Augustin finally joined the ring and grabbed Abbas by the throat, shaking his head until Abbas no longer fought against him. Augustin released his throat and blood poured from Abbas’s lifeless body and into the dirt.

Augustin looked to Abigail and bowed his head low to her before bounding off. She didn’t blame him; she knew that some wolves couldn’t control themselves after a taste of blood.

Porter’s body was already being lifted onto a stretcher as she shifted quickly back to her wolf form and ran to him. He was hardly breathing and his heartbeat came in slow, unsteady thumps every ten or so seconds.

Charvel’s sobs wracked her body and Abigail held her tightly as a woman handed her clothes. They followed after Porter.

***

Most of the wolves were returning back to their human form by the time Porter finally died. It was insignificant. All of Charvel and Gerit’s tears had been shed. Every possible thought that could have crossed Abigail’s mind had already done so.

Abigail would never remember the exact moment he died or what she felt when she heard his heart beat for the last time and his last pained, shaking breath.

“Promise me you won’t let your pride get in the way of your life.”

He hadn’t, though, in the end. Nothing could have prepared him for meeting their own father in the ring. 

It wasn’t pride that killed him.

It was confusion.

It was betrayal.

It was Abbas. 

And Abigail was never going to have the chance to tear his throat out herself, but she was still grateful to Augustin.

The elders had come to visit Porter an hour before he died. They had told the siblings what they already knew—that if he did survive, his recovery was going to be long and painful. 

They had expressed interest in Abigail and the potential for her to become the new alpha if she went unchallenged by anyone else, but she turned them down quickly and as rudely as possible. Despite their positions, the elders had no right to bring up the matter of alpha while standing over a dying Porter.

This was his dream, not mine, she thought.

Maybe without Abbas’s influence, Porter would have been a great alpha—perhaps even greater than Petra herself. 

But Petra was dead, and Abbas was dead, and now Abigail was standing in the room with Porter’s dead body and she felt nothing but numb numb numb numb numb numb numb—

“Abigail,” Gerit said. His voice sounded far away and it took her a few moments to realize that he had said her name. She turned her head to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She left as Porter’s body was being prepared for funeral and ran straight to the heart of the forest.

She slept there for a while, sitting with her back against the tree. When she woke up, the sun had finished rising and sat high in the sky. She felt its light through the treetops and it warmed her cheeks pleasantly. Guilt for enjoying the sun almost immediately settled in her stomach, though; Porter should have been feeling the sun on his face.

“So what is it about this tree?”

Anger quickly replaced guilt as she looked over at the woman from the other night. She picked a leaf off of a bush and walked over to sit next to Abigail. Failing to calm herself, Abigail tackled the woman to the ground and wrapped her hands around her throat.

“You knew he was going to die!” she screamed.

“Yes,” the woman choked out.

Abigail loosened her grip on the woman’s neck only slightly. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Scylla.”

“Why did you tell me to challenge Porter?”

“So that you could save him, which you obviously failed to do.”

Abigail punched Scylla, hard. 

“I told you before, Abigail—I’m not here to fight you, I’m here to help you.”

“Well, you failed.” Abigail got off of Scylla and sat back against the tree. “Porter’s dead.”

“I can save him.”

Abigail scoffed.

“I can.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I can tell you about your connection to the tree.”

Abigail’s neck almost snapped from the speed at which she looked up at Scylla. “How?”

Scylla smiled triumphantly. “First, we need to find a couple of witches.”


End file.
